


Placid Sweetness

by VergerBloom



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Artist/Muse, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Dominant Will Graham, Flirting, Fluff, Hannibal draws Will, Hannibal is dramatic, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Murder Husbands, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Romantic Fluff, They're So Married, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, hannibal is so in love, they're so in love, will is a tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26502292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VergerBloom/pseuds/VergerBloom
Summary: “What’s this, Dr Lecter?” he enquired in a quiet voice, leaning back on his forearms, legs stretched in front of him.“An exercise,” Hannibal replied ambiguously, a smile in his voice. He lifted his eyes up to Will’s, the umbers and ochres of the fire dancing in his irises. “Take off your shirt.”Hannibal asks Will to be his muse in Florence.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 122





	Placid Sweetness

Hannibal was drawing something when Will returned from the kitchen, curled up in front of the fireplace, casting him in gold. Will stilled for a moment, transfixed, resting his head against the door. 

“Come, sit by me,” Hannibal said without looking up, mouth set in concentration. Will smiled, taking a sip of scotch and walking to where Hannibal sat, lowering himself gently beside him so their knees touched, careful not to disturb the sketchbook. He peered over Hannibal’s shoulder at the work. It was a pencil drawing of a man drawing an arrow from behind him, his head turned away from the spectator. 

“Apollo,” Hannibal murmured, placing the book down on the carpet and lifting his eyes to Will. They were soft, and dreaming, like he’d just emerged from a daze. “One of Michaelangelo’s finest statues, symbolising a placid sweetness.” He placed his pencil next to the book. 

“It’s beautiful,” Will said, leaning over to take another look. He took another drink of the scotch, blood-red against the fire. “Why this piece?”

Hannibal smiled faintly, tracing the planes of Will’s face. “I feel I finally understand it,” he said eventually, eyes still on Will. “I always believed peace to be a state with a half-life, something only felt in fractured moments after a storm.” He took a drink of wine from his stem glass, then took Will by the waist. “I feel placid here, Will - don’t you?”

Will pressed his face into Hannibal’s shoulder, his shirt steeped in the scent of thyme from preparing their evening meal. It was raining outside; it had been raining in Florence for three days, the Arno river flooding its banks like blood spilling from a wound. 

Will nodded, taking Hannibal’s hand. He’d started wearing rings, a gold band adorning his finger. Will wore a matching one on his other hand, which he smoothed through Hannibal’s hair. It was longer now, too, and more silver than brown, curling around his ears. 

“Sit in front of me a moment, Will,” Hannibal said suddenly, reaching for his sketchbook. Will raised his eyebrows, a question in his smile, but did as he asked, moving to sit opposite Hannibal in front of the fire.

“What’s this, Dr Lecter?” he enquired in a quiet voice, leaning back on his forearms, legs stretched in front of him. 

“An exercise,” Hannibal replied ambiguously, a smile in his voice. He lifted his eyes up to Will’s, the umbers and ochres of the fire dancing in his irises. “Take off your shirt.”

Will raised his eyebrows. “What kind of exercise might this be?” Will asked teasingly, languidly undoing the pearl buttons of his black button-up. 

Hannibal turned his eyes back down to the sketchbook, a smirk ghosting his lips. “I want to draw you,” he replied simply, sharpening his pencil with his scalpel. 

“All of the beauty in this city, and you choose to draw me,” Will replied wryly, slipping his shirt off and placing it on the floor next to him. 

Hannibal’s eyes trailed Will’s torso deliberately, touching momentarily upon the spectral silver scarring above the hem of his jeans, before meeting Will’s gaze. “Yes.” He flicked his tongue over his lips, placing the scalpel on the carpet. “Tilt your chin up.”

Will smiled, lifting his face to the gilded wallpaper of the ceiling, the dim light of the fire casting his face in amber, hollowing his cheekbones and highlighting the yellow at the centre of his eyes. “Be warned, I’m not very good at staying still.”

Hannibal smiled, blending the pencil in gentle circles with the pad of his finger. “That can be dealt with; I know you from memory, after all.” 

Will’s mouth quirked up, eyes warm. “Then why am I posing, Hannibal?” 

Hannibal lifted his eyes, sweeping Will’s face. “I like to observe you,” he replied simply, beginning to shade Will’s hair. 

Will laughed lightly, adjusting his position a little. “Ever the psychiatrist,” he replied, the sarcasm in his voice undercut by the doting in his eyes.

Hannibal smiled a little, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. “I observed you differently, then,” he replied, erasing the shading beneath Will’s throat. “I was searching for you, to understand you; I understand you now.”

Will nodded faintly, gazing into the fire momentarily. Hannibal clicked his tongue, and he laughed, feigning surrender and returning to his position. “And you still like to observe me.”

“You’re beautiful,” he replied quickly, as though he did not have to think about it. 

Will warmed, raising his eyebrows a little. “Did you ever draw me in Baltimore, before everything?” he watched Hannibal’s face, eyes lingering on his mouth.

Hannibal still, placing his pencil down. “Yes,” he said gently, lifting his eyes to Will’s. He seemed almost vulnerable, if that were possible for a man like him, hair mussed against his forehead, eyes warmed by the wine he was drinking and the man before him. “You were one of my muses.”

Will smiled warmly. “Because I was beautiful?” he mused, taking a drink of scotch. 

“Yes,” Hannibal replied simply, returning to his drawing. He traced Will’s jaw and throat, sketching it in long, languid, strokes. “And yet, a physically beautiful subject does not always constitute a beautiful piece of art.” He took a sip of wine. “You are the perfect subject for drawing because you are an interesting one, “ he continued, lifting his heavy gaze and looking directly into Will’s eyes. “I could draw the Giardino Bardini, Brunelleschi’s Dome, even the Ponte Vecchio as it towers above the still river; none would have the same effect as you, the same details.” 

Will swallowed, gently lifting himself from his position opposite Hannibal and taking the sketchbook from his hand. He lay over Hannibal, pressing him down into the plush carpet and kissing him on the mouth, undoing the buttons of his silk shirt with practised efficiency. 

Hannibal pulled back slightly, a smirk playing on his swollen lips. “What about my drawing?”

Will smiled, trailing his hand in a meandering line down Hannibal’s chest. “You have all the time in the world to observe me,” he murmured against Hannibal’s skin, placing a line of kisses down his chest, mouth resting at the hem of his dress pants. He lifted his dark gaze to Hannibal’s, unbuttoning the fly. “Now I want to observe you.”

**Author's Note:**

> the result of listening to too much Hozier and getting in my feelings about Hannigram lol. Thank you for reading <3


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